Three Little Birds
by MissMahjong
Summary: Sherlock and John take on a case out in the country, they encounter something much bigger than the case. This is a paranormal adventure for the boys and is Johnlock, Sherlock/John.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

* * *

~ Three Little Birds

After arriving at Chester, Cheshire by train, Sherlock loathed the idea of using the car rentals GPS. Normally on trips like this, he brought his own but early morning distractions i.e. sex with John, disturbed his double check of necessary items. He took a glance at the loaned contraption then set his eyes back on the road.

"Where is _this_ GPS leading us?"

"The Last Brick Inn, we'll stop by, drop off our things and"

"Head for the police station after."

John smiled, delighting in how they finished each other's sentences sometimes.

"It's funny, this case."

"Should I be concerned about your dark humor?"

"Eh, no. It's just these people are dropping dead, like flies."

"Millicent Brownstone, age 67, found dead lying face down in her begonias; Carmine Rossi, age 33, found dead in hotel lobby; and Jocelyn Shepard, age 40, found dead in woman's loo at local restaurant. All bodies were found with no wounds, no internal bleeding and no fractured bones."

"Possible asphyxiation?" John suggested.

"No clear markings." Sherlock replied.

"Heart attack? Stroke?"

"Mm… not likely but let's keep an open mind."

"Right."

Sherlock pulled up to their destination, which looked more like an old mansion than hotel lodgings. They got out, grabbing their bags and duffels, hearing and feeling the crunch of gravel on the driveway under their feet and the chill in the air. What caught them off guard was the exclamation of joy from the grand entrance of the Inn. A man in his mid 40's, taller than John but shorter than Sherlock. Dressed in a suit he walked excitedly towards them, momentarily forgetting the use of his cane.

"Welcome and good afternoon Gentlemen! Please excuse my enthusiasm; my name is Mr. Crewes, Hector Crewes, manager of The Last Brick Inn, at your service."

Upon closer inspection, Mr. Crewes had interesting features, squinty eyes, a smile full of teeth and lines on his forehead. His eyes, in a way, sparkled at the sight of Sherlock and John but they were clearly aimed at Sherlock. The brunet detecive quirked a brow at John, knowing the former solider saw it but didn't acknowledge it.

"Yes, nice to meet you."

"Oh, Dr. John Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes," he shook their hands with zeal, "it's such an honor. I'm a huge fan of the blog, well, both blogs really. I love reading about the cases and how Mr. Holmes solves them."

"Yes, John has a fantastical way of describing the cases."

With a smile in place for Mr. Crewes, John mumbled _Smartarse_ under his breath clearly intended for Sherlock.

"Indeed he does. On some post I've read, it seems like I'm there myself."

To Sherlock's ire, his sarcasm flew right over Mr. Crewes' head. A moment went by as Mr. Crewes stared at Sherlock, star struck. John coughed to get his attention,

"Mr. Crewes, um, if we can check in? We're here for a case and-"

"Oh! Yes, of course, please follow me?"

As they entered the building, John truly realized just how large the place was compared to the outside. Mr. Crewes gave them a brief history about the mansion and the surrounding property along with a small tour of the first floor, to which Sherlock murmured a comment meant for John's ears,

"Christ, it's a bloody Cluedo board."

John felt like he was back in school on a trip with the way Sherlock was making faces behind Mr. Crewes back, the elder gentleman not even the slightest bit aware of how bored Sherlock was. John kept a straight face but during the small explanation of how Robert Guilders lost the property to Evan Waterman while gambling; John had to bite down hard on his fist to contain his laughter when Sherlock made a face at one of the paintings in the ballroom.

Approaching where they left their bags near the lounge, Mr. Crewes clapped his hands and ended the tour.

"Well, that's it, except for a few things, Mr. Hastings takes care of the outside property from 10 am to 1pm every four days a week, he'll be on shift tomorrow. Oh! And here are a copy of keys to the Inn."

"Keys to the Inn? What do you mean?"

"I'm sure Mr. Holmes already knows."

"Obvious lack of employees, far too quiet, minimal dusting and cleaning, just enough for our company. The Inn isn't doing so well."

Mr. Crewes had stars in his eyes at Sherlock's minute deduction while John and Sherlock shared a look. A quick wave of John's hand in front of the older man's face brought him out of his daze and he righted himself.

"You and Mr. Holmes are the most guest this place has had in weeks. Just last month, we've only had seven guests, seven… in an entire month. After a while, employees just decided to quit and now, the only ones working are Mr. Hastings and myself. Mrs. Vanderbilt, wealthy woman, comes from old money and owns a drug store with her husband, she owns the property and it's through her that we get our pay. It's frightening really, she's throwing money away by keeping this place some what open. I'm getting paid to hold the Inn's keys and while most people wouldn't object to it, I feel unfulfilled."

"Do you know why there haven't been much guest?" John asked

"Bad advertising I suppose, I've done all I can with limited funds but I can only do so much. Another, although, silly reason guest aren't booking is because of… ghosts." Mr. Crewes responded.

"Ghosts?"

"Psshhh." Sherlock remarked and walked away to make himself comfortable on one of the lounge sofas, leaving John and Mr. Crewes to talk.

"Some of the guest claim to see spectres or unexplained events have happened to them. Come to think of it, some former employees claimed to have seen such things as well."

"Uh huh, right." John heard the man out; it's not everyday he heard the subject of the paranormal come up.

"I haven't seen anything like that at all and I'm one of those 'you have to see it to believe it' types. Nothing at all."

"Yeah, I understand."

"The notion is rather ridiculous but curious."

"How curious?"

"Well, a few weeks back, we had a guests with a five day booking, they left after two. They claimed to have saw something but like I said, I've seen nothing… it wasn't entirely a lost, they paid for their two nights."

"Still made some business then."

"Yes and perhaps," John saw the man's hesitation and wondered what he wanted, "this maybe a bit too forward and feel free to decline but can you help the Inn?"

"Help the-"

"Yes, put in a good word for us on your blog, talk about your stay and leave the spectres out or leave them in if you can write it to appeal to your readers. If you don't mind doing so, please put in a good word?"

John wasn't expecting to advertise the Inn on his blog but he felt bad for the gentleman and agreed.

"I'll-I'll do what I can."

"Oh thank you Dr. Watson, thank you very much." Mr. Crewes shook his hand again, grateful for the help.

"Please, just call me-"

"John!" called out the lounging detective.

"Yeah Sherlock?"

"I'm bored."

* * *

Author's note: the original draft for this was longer but it felt forced out and didn't flow as much as I wanted it to, this one feels better.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, they all belong to their respective creators.

* * *

~ Three Little Birds

Sherlock pulled the rented Range Rover up to the Police station, the topic of paranormal entities bouncing between them.

"Do you really think that place is haunted?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"It's clearly a gimmick for you to play up the appeal of the Inn in your blog."

"But, do you think-"

"John the idea of spectres, spirits, and all that supernatural nonsense is ridiculous and irrelevant to the case. I have no interest in ghost stories."

"Not even a little bit?"

"Do you believe in ghosts and such things?"

"Well no, but you have to admit it's exciting. I want to find out why that subject was brought up, he said it for a reason."

"Yes, your blog. He wants you to play into the hype, the man just said it to your face John, why would you ask about his motive for bringing the subject of ghosts up?"

"Perhaps.. to… maybe get a reaction out of you? I think he's got a thing for you."

"He did and he does."

The station bustled with a low hum as Sherlock asked to see Detective Inspector Genevieve Morrison, soon they were lead to an office where they waited but not for long. She came in with a strict air, all work and no play and sat at her desk, the file for the case on top. DI Morrison regarded with them stern eyes, her gaze reminding John of a hawk. She was dressed in a suit, similar to Sherlock's but clearly designed for a woman. Her diamond studded earrings and her make up were the only feminine visuals about her; everything else was all business.

"Gentlemen, I'm glad you've graced us with your presence." Her tone was calm but certainly not inviting.

"Glad to be of service." John replied in a friendly manner but Sherlock had no patience for pleasantries.

"There's been another, hasn't there?"

She blinked before responding.

"So an officer at the front desk told you?"

"Your frown lines told me."

She glared at him and then sighed in annoyance.

"I don't care for you tricks Mr. Holmes, we have a serious case and it must be solved."

"You're not that fun at parties are you?" Sherlock asked with a smug tilt to his head.

"Mr. Holmes." Her irritation grew.

"Sherlock, what the hell?" John didn't know where Sherlock was going with this, was he trying to piss her off?

"What I do isn't a trick, Detective Inspector, its applied logic of a very simple practice. Obviously you have yet to solve this on your own or else we wouldn't be here but this case is beyond your expertise. Had you solved the case already, those frown lines on your forehead wouldn't give away your stress signs, which in turn tells me that there's been another one."

Silence reined the room and for a moment, John thought she was going to kick them out of the office.

"Indeed there has, we just don't know how. We're waiting for the autopsy reports. I've got one here if you want to take a look."

John noticed DI Morrison wasn't one to admit defeat so easily.

"May I?" Sherlock asked, using his pseudo politeness.

She handed the report over to them and they looked through it, John familiar with the terminology and Sherlock making more deductions.

"Got anything?" John asked.

"Three, maybe five." Sherlock answered, the two of them in their zone with shared vocabulary.

"Three or five what!" She demanded, he patience wearing thin from Sherlock's antics. They've met Detective Inspectors with similar personalities, putting the job above all else as they should but DI Morrison brought a stern presence to them. To both Sherlock and John, it was evident that she was used to solving crimes quickly and efficiently, getting the job done and out of the way and taking on a new case immediately; so this current case not only puzzled her but vexed her as well.

"Possibilities, but before I can begin a solid investigation, I need to see the newest corpse." Sherlock's tone was neutral but he wanted to annoy her even more. The only thing holding him back was the need to solve the case and John's eyes burning a hole to the side of his head.

"Only if you don't mind my presence."

"The more the merrier." Responded Sherlock.

Following DI Morrison from of her office to the stations entrance, she stopped them before they stepped out.

"Just a few things before I let you in on this case, one, this is my investigation and I have full jurisdiction on it but I'm allowing your expertise because you come highly recommended from DI Lestrade, no matter how… eccentric your methods are. Two, I understand that you two are together as colleagues and… intimately. Will your intimacy be a problem on this case?"

Sherlock and John shared a glance before John asked,

"Are you questioning our professionalism?"

"Indeed I am. I've encountered a number of things in my profession so nothing is new, however I must know if your relationship will impede on this case."

"You, you- oh of all the things to ask-"

"Just tell me if the need to snog or have a domestic will interrupt the investigation."

Sherlock, knowing John's temperament, knew the man was ready to tell her off. Since they've been together, John has been rather protective of their relationship, fighting against the naysayers, sometimes literally. In the first few months, it puzzled Sherlock as to why John would go so far when ignoring would be easier and then it clicked. It was so simple and right under his nose, sentiment, affection, love, it all made sense and touched Sherlock deeply. Now, two years into their relationship and John most of the time ignores the naysayers unless provoked. Sherlock knew the DI's words were provoking John so he quickly nipped the problem.

"Detective Inspector Morrison, consider this; the case comes before we do."

John's mouth went slack as he looked at Sherlock first with shock and quickly looked over at DI Morrison for her reaction. She glared, hard, at the tall brunet, nonchalant pale blue eyes meeting hers.

"Fine. Follow my car to the morgue."

Both men entered their vehicle, Sherlock taking the drivers side and John the passenger as he criticized what just transpired.

"The case comes before we do?! Really Sherlock !?" disbelief in his tone.

"She asked and I let her know."

Going through the quick process of settling seat belts and starting the engine, Sherlock pulled out of the parking lot and followed DI Morrison's car.

"Oh God, the nerve of her! We should report her to her supervisor; we really should, that was harassment! Of course we take the case seriously, who does she think she is?!"

"Don't concern yourself with her John, her Catholic upbringing didn't provide much of an open mind."

"Catholic upbringing?" John asked, remembering his somewhat Catholic upbringing, though he knew he wasn't the best Catholic but religion wasn't his main priority.

"Hidden rosary around her neck, a small crucifix on her desk, but her strong sense of justice motivates her to get the job done, she's all about the job."

"So… not that much fun at parties then." The short blond joked, giving a quick amused smile to Sherlock.

"I love being right." Sherlock smiled back.

Upon entering the morgue where the recently deceased body of one Mr. Kirkman was on the table, Sherlock sneezed, the DI gave him a quick 'bless you' while John took note of the sneeze. He remembered earlier how Sherlock sneezed when they got off the train but he didn't think any thing of it until now. Was Sherlock coming down with something? Maybe a cold morgue wasn't ideal for an oncoming cold but his thoughts were interrupted by a nudge to his arm from Sherlock.

John and Sherlock examined the body; John went over the wounds on the body, noting that the wounds weren't harmful enough to cause death. Sherlock observed the wounds, skin, and body parts but mainly focused on the mouth. He opened the mouth of Mr. Kirkman, taking a look inside and smelling the deceased mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw DI Morrison lift an eyebrow as he finished his examination.

"What is it?"

"Murder." Sherlock responded, righting himself, eyes still on the body.

"Not suicide?"

The tall genius slid his gaze over to her, squinting at her skeptically.

"You can't truly believe all these deaths were random suicides?"

"I didn't but I can't prove it."

"Obviously."

"Where's your proof since you claim its murder." She asked.

John crossed his arms, muttering under his breath _Here we go_, excited for his partner to prove his 'eccentric methods' as the DI dubbed them; Sherlock just smirked.

"Hm, where to begin? Mrs. Brownstone, elderly woman with a severe medical condition, she can't possibly live alone so there must be someone who watches over her, cooks her meals, prepares her bath, general hospice care. Mr. Rossi was staying at a hotel, most likely he had breakfast before leaving and unfortunately dying. Ms. Shepard was eating at a restaurant before her untimely death in the women's lavatory and now him. Three victims had ingested sources of sustenance, and were most likely poisoned and then there's him. He's showing all the signs of potential poisoning as well… except, you found him near a river."

"Under a bridge just this morning by the River Dee, a couple taking a walk found him and reported it in." Her expression displayed not

A moment of quiet contemplation from Sherlock before he asked.

"Have you spoken with witnesses."

"Just general inquiries."

"I need the names of everyone you've talked to, the exact location where you found this man, and all the reports of this case so far-"

"Where we found him has been taped off, you have my permission to do an investigation but you're only getting copies of official reports."

"Fine, copies but I'll also need photographs."

"You'll get copies of those too."

Sherlock made a frustrated face, scrunching it up in a way John found adorable but felt the tension between the DI and the taller man.

"Sherlock." John's toned implied a simple message; _don't start anything_.

"Are you done here gentlemen?" DI Morrison asked.

"For the moment yes. John and I are going to check out the location of his collapse, you should call your people to have everything ready for me. The assessment shouldn't be too long and we'll stop by the station to pick everything up."

"And after?"

"The game is on."

She obviously didn't understand their lingo, her face went from neutral tolerance to heavy irritation.

"The game?"

With an eye roll, John matched her tone and body language, showing his equal ire with her too.

"He means we'll solve your bloody case, c'mon Sherlock."

Sherlock regarded John's annoyance and gave a pointed look at DI Morrison before following John out.

They went to the scene of the latest death, a grassy area of land at the rivers edge and brick support arch of the bridge. The body of Mr. Kirkman displayed water swelling on some parts, meaning that those parts of the body were in the water. Sherlock was observing the bent grass patterns when with he fell in the river with one misstep. Sherlock was soaked from head to toe, John did his best to somewhat contain his laughter; he giggled but sobered up when he noticed the brilliant man about to sulk from embarrassment. After a quick word of comfort from John, Sherlock continued until he was satisfied with his observations and deductions. Although Sherlock's earlier sneezes concerned him more now, if he were to stop Sherlock now and suggest they come back in the morning, he'd never hear the end of it. When they finished, nighttime was falling fast as well as the temperature. Sherlock's sneezes got worse as he became congested. They drove to the police station, John running in and out with all the copies of the reports and then drove to the Inn.

Their room at The Last Brick Inn, or rather, quarters felt like a mini home away from home, complete with a kitchenette, a cozy living room and separate bedroom just a door away. They were granted one of the two largest of quarters to stay in, where John made himself a small dinner and Sherlock, fresh from the shower an in dry clothes went over the reports. During his meal, John noticed Sherlock sniffing every so often and how red his nose was; obviously the shower didn't help his congestion. After a bit of bickering, nasally remarks from Sherlock, John convinced him to take some meds and go to sleep with the promise of rubbing his chest with vapor rub. Sherlock settled on the left side of the bed, his usual spot, with only his pajama bottoms on and the covers pulled up his stomach. John was in the space to Sherlock's right, always on his right, unzipping his travel med kit and finding the vapor rub.

"John."

"Hm?"

"This place is un-nessa."

"Un-nessa?" John quirked a 'brow.

"Unnecessarily large."

Unscrewing the lid, John dipped his fingers in the jar and took out a sizable dollop of vapor rub and began spreading it over Sherlock bare chest. Sherlock breathed in, the strong scent of the vapor doing its job of clearly a path in his nostrils. The moment was quiet and calm, Sherlock feeling John's right hand spread the rub over his skin, massaging here and there on his pectorals, an overall soothing and pleasant sensation which left him aroused and lethargic; the meds were kicking in too.

"John, I take it back."

"The comment about the Inn?"

"No, the case coming before we do, we should-"

John stopped his ministrations.

"No. Not right now, we're not doing anything, you're ill."

"Orgasm clears up sinus congestion."

"So does vapor rub."

"John-" Sherlock whined.

"Sherlock, imagine Anderson eating a vanilla cone."

"What's that got to-" Sherlock made a disgusted face and shuddered, "oh, that's gross John."

"Gone soft?"

"Soft and nauseous."

John smiled at the dramatics, getting a smaller dollop of vapor rub and rubbed it along Sherlock's neck with a lighter touch.

"John."

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"I think that's the meds talking."

John stopped the rubbing, closing the jar and putting it away

"No really, I-"

"Shhh, you don't have to tell me, just show me; actions are louder."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"So… what can I do to show my deep affections for you?"

"Well, you can eat breakfast tomorrow-", Sherlock grimaced, "now don't give me that look, you're eating."

"Yes, fine, what else?" Sherlock said with an eye roll.

"Get some sleep tonight, I'll join you in a bit."

"Your blog?"

"Yes, I want to take and post some photos of this place, I think I'll go with the whole haunted theme to help Mr. Crewes get more reservations."

"John, we're on a case, not a holiday."

"I might as well get a holiday out of it, heavens knows what would happen if we went on a real holiday."

The shorter blond man leaned down and placed a loving kiss on Sherlock's forehead before getting up and turning off the light.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

"Night John."

He felt the drift of sleep come in and in the fog space between consciousness and sleep, Sherlock could've sworn he felt a cold weight in three different spots on his upper body; two to his right and one on his left. He also could've sworn he heard a conversation discussing him and felt the voices coming from the cold spaces, the voices of young girls.

"He's awfully handsome isn't he?" the voice of a young women in her early teens, his fogged brain worked out.

"I dunno, he's got a weird chin… looks like there's more chins." Said the second voice, younger than the teen.

"I think he's pwetty." Piped in a much younger voice.

"Hush Rose!" said the teen voice

"It's not like he can hear us." Replied the second voice.

"Don't be so sure, maybe he can… maybe he can help us." Was the last thing Sherlock heard when sleep claimed him.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, getting to the good stuff and about the religion stuff, please don't take offense, everyone has their own beliefs about religion and how they worship and know that I'm not shaming anyone who practices their faith, that small bit just works for the sake of the story and for DI Morrison.


End file.
